The Emerald Scepter

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Hawkins stirred in the cocoon-like warmth of his sleeping bag and glanced at the glowing hands of his wristwatch. He yawned, unzipped the bag, grabbed his computer and stepped out of his tent into the cold night. A welcome scent wafted on the crisp air. The guards were brewing a pot of coffee on a gas stove.

A guard waved Hawkins over and filled a mug for him. The first sip was like hitting the switch on his brain ignition. The potent concoction made the strongest Starbucks brew seem like water.

“Good?” the unlikely barista said.

“More than good,” Hawkins said.

He went over to the lean-to he had erected close to the lake the day before, set his computer on a stack of boxes and booted up. He called up the data Fido had fed into the system after returning to the docking port. An orange-and-black image showed the lake floor moving under the AUV’s camera. Information giving time and depth streamed along the bottom of the screen. A vertical portion of the picture off to the right showed the results of the side-scan sonar.

Calvin had emerged from his tent and followed the scent of coffee to its source. He brought his cup over to the lean-to.

“Man, this tastes like Louisiana crude.”

“Yeah. We can use this stuff in the DPV if we run short on fuel.” Hawkins pointed at the screen. “Have a look.”

Hawkins called up the photographic image of the entire search area. Dotted parallel lines showed the path of the AUV as it moved from the bottom to the top of the slope and back down again.

“Fido was a busy little pup,” Calvin said.

Calvin’s finger traced several dark areas among the layers of rock strata. “These are all potential targets that could be cave openings.”

Hawkins zoomed in on the individual targets, one after another. “There’s one problem. You know what real estate people say. Location times three. None of these openings line up with the camel’s hump or the mine shaft. They’re all off to one side or the other of the mid-line.”

“Maybe someone made a mistake eyeballing the hump.”

“Maybe, but I can’t see Kurtz sinking a mine shaft on the basis of an estimated position. Let’s take a closer look at the slope directly in line with the shaft.”

He went back to the over-view image and called up that section showing the path in line with the shaft. “There,” he said, freezing the image on a huge boulder sitting in a depression. “Notice the shape of the shadow surrounding the rock.”

Calvin squinted at screen. “The hole is rectangular, almost square. Mine opening maybe.”

“That’s my take on it too, Cal. It could be a mine or maybe a cave entrance modified by human beings. Only one way to know for sure.”

“I’ll get the dive gear ready,” Calvin said.

The sun had risen, but the air was still cold and they shivered as they shimmied into their wetsuits. They ran a line down the sloping shore of the lake from the bumper of the personnel carrier. They would hold onto the rope as they made their way down to the water’s edge. A couple of guards carried dive gear and waterproof flashlights to the edge of the lake. With a few strokes of the keyboard, Hawkins programmed the vehicle to return to the boulder it had discovered on its initial search.

Then he and Calvin pulled on their fins and air tanks with the attached Pegasus propulsion units, slipped into the lake and swam over to the floating dock. Fido’s electric motors hummed while the computer went through its positioning procedure. Hawkins and Calvin waved at the guards lined up at the top of the cliff then they dove a few feet and tested their air supply and communications systems.

The AUV slipped below the surface with its headlights on. Propelled by the Pegasus thrusters, Hawkins and Calvin followed Fido, swimming parallel to the underwater slope. The color of the water shifted from silvery blue to navy. Their depth gauges were at one hundred fifty feet when Fido slowed to a stop and hovered with its headlight beams pointed at the massive boulder they had seen on the monitor. The rock was around twelve feet in diameter and wedged tightly into what had been the cave or mine opening.

“This explains why Kurtz sunk the shaft,” Hawkins said. “There was no way he could get by this thing. And from the looks of it, neither can we.”

Calvin poked his sheath knife into the tight seam between the bolder and the edge of the hole. “Where’s that SEAL can-do spirit, Hawk?” He patted a pack harnessed to his chest. “Ol’ Calvin packed some C-4 in his bag of goodies.”

“You want to blast it? You’d need a nuke to pulverize this size rock.”

“Not talking about blasting the rock. I’ll set the charges around the perimeter and see if I can pop that bad boy out like a zit.”

“You have a way with words, Cal. But won’t the explosion bring down the whole slope above the opening?”

“Not if I set the charges right. I’ll blast the ledge at the same time. The pressure will push the plug from behind, the ledge will crumble like an old cookie, and she’ll roll over and out. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully.”

“That’s the best I got, Hawk.”

“Then it’s good enough for me, old pal. Stay here, Fido,” he said to the hovering AUV. “We’ll be right back.”

Hawkins pointed up. They rose up the face of the boulder, and then ascended the slope with strong, steady fin flutters. They were a few fathoms from the surface when they heard what sounded like a jackhammer. Then a buzz-saw went to work.

They hovered, listening as the combined noise grew to a stuttering sound wave that was only partially dampened by the layer of water overhead. A second later there was a flash of light and the water thudded with the vibration of an explosion. There were several more buzz saw episodes, followed by a thrashing, pulsating sound. The surface was stirred up like water in a washing machine and they backed down the slope to get away from the turbulence.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that there had been a fierce attack on land.

From the lack of sound, it appeared, too, that there was a lull. Hawkins signaled Calvin to head up the slope.

They surfaced cautiously through the roiling water. Black smoke drifted over their heads. They shed their tanks, weight belts and fins and crawled up to where they could peer over the edge of the cliff. The encampment was a scene of utter devastation.

Where there had been a dozen or so of Amir’s guards were only broken bodies spread around. The troop carrier was a burning pile of blackened wreckage, and what was left of it was riddled with holes. Through the cloud of greasy smoke, Hawkins could see four helicopters circling the camel hump like hunting raptors. He recognized the slim fuselages of Cobra gunships. The larger helicopter was likely a flying command post.

Hawkins easily reconstructed the murderous assault.

The helicopters would have used the camel hump as cover and swooped in with Gatling guns blazing. The Afghans had fought back with their automatic weapons, but their defense would have been useless in the face of the withering stream of hot lead. After the guns had softened up the defenders, a missile was used to dispatch the troop carrier. The choppers had hovered over the lake for a few seconds before going into a holding pattern around the hump.

Hawkins pushed away a chilling thought. If Abby and Cait had stayed at the camp they would have been among the dead.

“Hey, Hawk. Heads up. Eleven o’clock.”

Hawkins’ eyes followed Calvin’s pointing finger. The larger helicopter had broken from the holding pattern and was heading back toward the lake.

Without another word, Calvin scrambled over the top of the cliff and started running toward the shredded framework of their tents. The attack had concentrated mostly on the troop carrier, but shrapnel had torn through the tent fabric.

“Where the hell are you going?” Hawkins yelled at his friend’s back.

Calvin raised his arm in a follow-me gesture and shouted something about needing help.

The helicopter was coming in fast.

Hawkins swore lustily and clambered over the edge of the cliff. Calvin was at the ruined tents, and he ripped aside the tattered fabric and reached inside. He was struggling to lift a heavy metal locker when Hawkins arrived and grabbed one of the handles. They lugged the locker back toward the cliff, then down the banking to the water.

Hawkins started up toward the cliff again.

“Hey, Hawk, where the hell are you going?”

Calvin’s voice was almost drowned out by the noise of the approaching rotors.

Hawkins gave Calvin the hand signal to stay down and raised his head slightly above the edge.

A charcoal-colored Blackhawk helicopter armed with missile pods on its stubby wings was setting down a few hundred feet from the blazing troop carrier. Seconds after the skids touched ground, the doors flew open and four men carrying AK-47s popped out. They were dressed in camouflage suits with no insignia. Black berets covered their heads. Their facial complexion and body type reflected a variety of nationalities, but they all had the hard-eyed, alert expression of professional soldiers.

Four more men got out. They were carrying duffle bags which they set on the ground. As the armed men stood guard, the quartet opened the bags and began to pull out air tanks and other dive equipment.

Finally, two more men emerged from the chopper. Hawkins couldn’t believe his eyes when a portly man got out of the aircraft and he recognized the professor he had met at Georgetown University. Saleem had shed his tweeds and was dressed in a khaki army uniform, again with no insignia.

Hawkins’ disbelief was further tested when he saw the last man, wearing a similar uniform emerge. The man took a few steps, stopped and swiveled his head robotically to inspect the carnage. In that fleeting second Hawkins saw the face of one of the twin assassins who had shot up his office. The man went over to the divers, who were suiting up, and pointed toward the lake.

Hawkins ducked below the ledge and slid down the slope to where Calvin was waiting.

“We’ve got big trouble,” he said.

Over breakfast at the garden table in the courtyard of his house, Amir had been sharing reminiscences of his late wife with his two guests when he paused and looked first at Abby, then Cait.

“Tell me,” he said. “If the Prester John treasure were in your hands, what would you do with it?”

“I would put it in an exhibition that traveled the world so that people everywhere could see the wonders of the past,” Cait said.

“Spoken like a true seeker of knowledge. Would those people be primarily in the more affluent countries?”

“A fair question. I would make sure the exhibition goes everywhere and that poor people could see it for free.”

“Better. But even if the treasure went on display, how would showing a priceless treasure better the lives of people in a poor country like Afghanistan?”

“By giving them pride in their culture. The glories of their past would show them that they once had a level of civilization that equaled or even surpassed that of Western Europe.”

Amir nodded and turned to Abby. “Do you agree?”

“Cultural pride is a good thing,” Abby said, “but you can’t eat it. I’d slap a big price on the admission tickets and use the treasure as the basis for books, films, videos, reproductions. The money earned would go into a foundation that would distribute the income to countries where it would do the most good.”

“Brilliant!” Amir said. “Could you be persuaded to run this foundation?”

“With your business background, you’d be a perfect choice,” Cait said.

“Thanks for the flattering offer, but I’m pretty busy with my company.”

“Not too busy to travel halfway across the world to go on a dangerous treasure hunt,” Cait said.

“Matt wouldn’t let me say no.” She shrugged. “I guess I’m a sucker when it comes to my ex-husband.”

Cait’s jaw dropped. “You were married to Matt?”

“For a few years, after a whirlwind navy romance.”

“You have good taste in men. He’s extremely attractive.”

“If you’re hinting that I was a fool to give him up, you’re probably right. But Matt would probably agree with me that it was the right thing to do at the time.”

“At the time,” Cait echoed, cocking her head.

Abby knew Cait was about to use her answer as a jumping off place to ask whether things had changed. She liked Cait, but her past was her own business, and she would not be shy about saying so. Amir may have seen the pugnacious look in her eye because he diverted the conversation back to the subject of the treasure.

“Maybe Abby would be interested in your thoughts on the exact nature of the treasure, Dr. Cait.”

Abby gave Amir a smile of thanks for allowing her a graceful exit.

“Be glad to,” Cait said. “Prester John described himself as being fabulously rich and said that he ruled his kingdom with an emerald-encrusted golden scepter. My research suggests that he sent some of his treasure as a gift to the Pope and the scepter as a gesture of solidarity.”

“I could use a scepter like that to rule my own little kingdom,” Amir said with a wry smile.

“You may have the artifact in your hands soon, if Matt’s dive is successful.”

“Then we should soon be on our way,” Amir said. He rose from his chair and said, “My car will be here in fifteen minutes.”

As Abby headed for her room, Cait reached out and touched her arm.

“Thanks for persuading me to spend the night here, and for the first aid on my face,” she said. “I owe you an apology, too. I was pushing too close to your personal business.”

Abby saw from Cait’s expression that she was truly sorry.

“The stuff with Matt? Don’t worry,” she said before setting off down the hallway. “That’s water under the bridge. We’re just good friends, although we may not even be that by the time this adventure is over. Your face looks great by the way. Make-up is a wonderful thing. See you in ten.”

Amir was at the wheel of the touring car. An armed guard sat beside him and two more tribesmen were tucked into the jump seats behind the seated women. More guards rode in the Russian Jeep, behind the Caddy, and others in the DPV, which brought up the rear.

As usual, Amir drove at breakneck speed. They were flying through the agricultural fields when suddenly a pick-up truck appeared coming in the opposite direction. The driver was blinking the headlights and leaning on the horn.

Truck and car simultaneously came to a screeching stop. Amir shouted in anger in Pashto. The driver babbled back at him.

Amir listened for a moment, a grim expression on his face, then he turned to Cait and Abby. “This man says smoke and noise are coming from the camp where your friends are.”

He put the touring car in gear and they covered the distance to the lake in ten minutes. He stopped at the edge of the bluff and with Abby and Cait following, he hobbled to the cliff to peer through binoculars at a black cloud rising from the opposite shore.

“What’s going on?” Abby said.

The Amir handed the binoculars to Abby and pointed across the lake.

“My eyes aren’t what they used to be. Tell me if you see anything.”

Abby studied the camp site for a moment, and said, “Too much smoke.” She handed the glasses to Cait, who had no better luck.

Amir rattled off a series of orders to his men. The Russian Jeep continued on the road around the lake and the desert vehicle headed back to the compound.

“I’ve sent some of my men to scout out the camp and others to warn the village. Somehow, someone got past our outposts. It looks as if I will have to make an apology to Mr. Hawkins for doubting his warnings….”

Amir left off the last part of his comment, but his unspoken words hung in the air.

…If he is still alive.